


Why Early Morning Drinking is a Good Career Choice (If You're a Super-Soldier or Tony Stark)

by capsicl3



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:52:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsicl3/pseuds/capsicl3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve is up one night trying to out run his memories he runs into Tony instead, who knew they'd become regular drinking buddies? Every morning at 2.30, in fact. But when Tony can't make it one night, Steve runs into Katie Coulson and can't help but stutter and blush in that completely charming Steve Rogers fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Early Morning Drinking is a Good Career Choice (If You're a Super-Soldier or Tony Stark)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and I'm sorry for any grammatical errors. Also for spelling mistakes. Also for anything else wrong with it, it's about 4.30 in the morning so you understand my foggy attention to detail. Thank you for reading and I hope it's not too awful an experience for you!  
> P.s. I'm sorry, I'm trying to figure out the formatting for this so I apologize for the huge chunks of text....I will fix it...  
> P.p.s. please feel free to comment or something, let me know if I should post the next chapter or whatever!

Steve rubs his eyes and rests his arm behind his head as he stares up at the star littered sky through the skylight. As his eyes jump from star to star he can’t help but feel that he’s not supposed to be here; not that Tony hasn’t made an effort to make him feel at home in his God-knows-how-many-storey Manhattan sky scraper, it’s just that 2012 was so different. After waking up he had quickly realized he understood nothing about this century or half of the last, everything is bright and flashy and fast and no one has time for anything but money or themselves. 

Even the sky looks different.

For a short time after he’d woken up he’d thought it was just Stark, he’d thought it made sense for technology to run the man’s life considering how much time he spends around it. He’d thought the outside world wouldn’t have changed that much, maybe he could still go back to Brooklyn and see the old apartment and sit in his favourite café. That slither of hope-no matter how thin it was- illuminated the darkness he was stuck in for a while. Though that was dimmed and extinguished shortly after S.H.I.E.L.D had briefed him and let him out of the compound for the first time. Everyone he passed on the street was in a hurry, heads bowed to look at the tiny computers in their hands. They were all busy and had no time for anything and Steve hated it.

Steve closes his eyes, behind his lids he sees Peggy smiling at him. Her brown eyes are glistening with tears and he realizes her smile isn’t one of joy, it’s sad. He watches as she dabs her cheeks with his handkerchief and he wants to hold her and tell her he’s sorry and he’ll never be late ever again but she’s fading.

His eyes fly open, he can’t cope with that. 

As the dull ache spreads in his chest he sits up and looks at the glowing numbers on the clock. Half-past two. 

He needs a drink. 

Steve digs the scotch out of the futuristic glass cabinet on the common floor of Stark Towers.

S.H.I.E.L.D had put him here with five other agents shortly after he’d woken up. They told them they would live here with Stark until they needed them because something ‘big’ was on the way, though they had failed to tell the team what or when. So until he’s summoned he’s living here, in Stark Towers with five others he didn’t really know anything about (apart from Tony Stark himself) as he adjusts to twenty-first century life.

Steve places the bottle and tumbler on the table in front of him, pouring himself a more-than-generous glass before taking a gulp and studying the amber liquid. As he turns the glass in his hands, Peggy, Howard, Bucky, the team, everyone begins to creep back into his mind. Clawing their way up from the depths-despite his attempts to push them back down into the shadows, the abyss he’d put them in to spare himself the dull pain and heartache that was now growing in his chest, flourishing with each breath. He can’t breathe, overwhelmed with guilt and he has to move, get out of here just go somewhere-

“Rogers, what are you doing up?” the voice echoes from the hall way as Tony steps out of the lift.  
Steve’s head shoots round as he sits up in his chair, trying to look like he’s together.  
“Tony,” he smiles, his lips shaking at the corners. “Caught me off guard there,” he says a little embarrassed, but Tony brushes past that.  
Steve thanks him silently.  
“What are you drinking?” he asks peering over at the bottle in front of Steve as he fetches himself a tumbler. He straddles the chair opposite Steve and reaches for it.  
Don’t ask to join me then, Stark.  
“Scotch,” he pauses and swallows another gulp. “Cheap scotch if the after taste is any indication.”  
Tony examines the label. His lips curl into a small smile and he lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in disappointment.  
“This is cheap scotch, Goddammit, Barton.” He takes the bottle and retreats back to the cabinet. He swaps it for a larger bottle with a dark label and returns to the table, by this time Steve has finished his glass-full. “The man’s paranoid about over spending.”  
Something you’ve obviously never had to worry about. Steve opens his mouth to voice his thoughts but refrains.  
“This is the good stuff.” He nods filling his glass, another generous amount but not quite as generous as Steve’s. Tony didn’t have a super-human liver-no matter how much he wished.  
Tony’s eyes rise from the bottle to Steve as he reclines in his chair.  
“That’s quite a glass full you’ve got there, Captain.” He nods towards the glass and gestures with his own in Steve’s direction.  
Steve stares at his glass before replying.  
“I can’t get drunk, I can’t get hung-over, I can’t get liver disease, why the hell not?” he shrugs and reaches for the bottle, he tries to keep his tone light but he can’t seem to hide the sourness and Tony hears it, feels like there’s something more to what the soldier is saying.  
“So what’s bothering you?” he asks bluntly with a sigh, as if exasperated that Steve didn’t tell him right away. If there’s one thing to be said about Tony Stark, it’s that he doesn’t beat round the bush, so to speak.  
Steve freezes, bottle in hand. He’s taken back with Tony’s forward attitude. He takes a nervous breath before reaching for his glass.  
“You don’t care, Stark. You’ve got better things to do than listen to me and my old fashioned problems.” He says sitting forward with his hands firmly wrapped around the tumbler. His shoulders pinched with stress and his jaw is clenched, Tony studies him, shaking his head and he catches Steve’s gaze to let him know he’s deadly serious.  
“Would it have anything to do with that woman in your pocket watch? The one you’re always drawing?” he takes a sip of his drink and grits his teeth as he swallows the burn he’s a little too accustom to.  
Steve stares wide-eyed; his mouth falls open a little with shock.  
Tony laughs quietly.  
“I’m not stupid, Cap. You’re always leaving your sketch book lying around and most of the time it is open,” he emphasises, “you can’t expect no body to see.”  
“I, um,’’ he begins, but the words don’t sound right. He can’t do Peggy justice with words or charcoal, even the photo in his watch doesn’t capture her true beauty. Nothing was or ever would be good enough and that hurt more than Steve could bear.  
“Thought as much,” Tony nods to himself, his gaze diverting to the New York skyline beside them.  
They sit in silence for God knows how long. Tony lazily draped over his chair while Steve sits forward in his, hands gripping his glass in front of him, the two creases between his eyebrows growing deeper as the time passes.  
Tony places the empty glass on the table and rises to his feet.  
“Well, goodnight, Captain. It was nice talking to you.” He nods and turns to the lift. Steve swears he hears him say “all four sentences” under his breath but doesn’t call him on it, instead he blurts out:  
“I just miss her, that’s all.” It’s not all but he doesn’t want to talk about the self-loathing, guilt, heartache or the dull pain in his chest that grows there every night, right now.  
The brown haired man stops and drops his head. He spins on his heel and Steve sees what could only be empathy in his eyes but he knows Tony won’t admit to it being there.  
Tony sighs and digs around in his jeans. He tosses a set of keys across the room to him and Steve catches them, confused.  
“Get out, Cap. See modern New York, go to Brooklyn do whatever. It’ll take your mind off everything, take the Harley. I’ll get onto Fury about getting yours out of archives tomorrow.”  
Steve looks down at the keys in his hand but when he looks back to thank Tony he’s gone.  
“Thanks,” he mutters as he pockets the keys.  
Then he’s in the garage, pulling onto the street, then he’s down town loosing himself in the lights and sounds and the buzz of New York’s night life. And Tony was right; this is taking his mind off everything.

x-x-x

He does this for days. Every night at two-thirty he’d leave for the common floor and sit at the table with the scotch (not Barton’s cheap crap though) and two tumblers and wait for Tony. Tony would usually show up around ten minutes after Steve which Steve appreciated as it gave him time to get lost in his thoughts, but not too much time so they become bad thoughts. 

Steve would tell Tony stories, another thing he missed about Peggy, another thing that had changed since his day. Though he was careful not to mention Howard after he’d said his name the other night and watched Tony’s knuckles whiten around his glass and his jaw tighten, making the sharp curve even more prominent and exposing all the ligaments in his neck. Though he’d noticed when he’d told him how different they were Tony’s eyes had light up no matter how he’d tried to hide it.  
Even now as he waits in the lift he can hear his father’s voice.  
“You’ll never be half the man Rogers was, Tony. Just stop trying.” 

Even now as Tony dwells on his father’s drunken words they sting. The more he hears them the more they sting, like he was pouring alcohol on an open wound.  
“I could be.” He mutters.

As the doors ping and the doors slide open he wipes the toxicity from his features and steps into the living area.  
“Tony,” Steve nods with a smile, his tone is light and friendly and the creases in his brow are smooth.  
“Captain, you’re jolly.” Tony says sitting in his usual chair and pulling the glass towards him.  
“Well,” Steve shrugs as a smile cracks his pink lips.  
“What’s gotten into you, then?” Stark reclines to his usual drinking position, one arm rested over the back of the chair with his legs crossed at the ankle, scotch in his remaining hand. 

Steve can’t help but wish he was that confident, or at least make the impression he is. There was something about Stark that just bled confidence. 

He snaps back from his irrelevant train of thought and opens his mouth to answer but as the words collaborate in his head he begins to feel a little stupid. A soft blush spreads across his cheek bones and his ears get hotter. He shifts in his chair uncomfortably. 

“No reason,” he lies but Tony’s not fooled.

Tony laughs and Steve notes it’s not one of condescension or patronization, it’s genuine. This only makes Steve flush a darker shade of pink.  
“Captain, I’ve not known you for long, let’s be honest, but I do know that a man is only this happy after sex or…well after sex, and that sure as hell can’t be the reason.” Tony laughs when Steve’s head shoots up to glare at him after the last eight words. “C’mon, Cap. You’re redder than my suit. What’s gotten you so goddamn happy?”

He’s persistent, Steve will give him that. 

“I feel like an idiot saying it out loud; it’s the kind of thing you have to see.” He finally says after a long silence.  
“I’m not going to mock you.” Tony says innocently as he takes a deep breath and shrugs, his gaze once more focused on the city beside them.  
“Honest to God, Stark” Steve shakes his head, lips quirking with the threat of a smile. “You expect me to believe that?”

They both sip their drinks as Tony shrugs, a filthily cheeky grin spreading across his face.  
“Eh, what you gonna do?” he pauses and then he’s serious again, “so what is it then?”  
The Captain smiles, his eyes fall to his hands.  
To hell with it, it’s only Stark.  
“Okay then,” he shifts in his seat to sit forward, though Tony notes he doesn’t look like he has done the previous nights he’s sat forward in his seat. There’s no clenched jaw, no surfacing tendons in his neck or forearms and no pinched shoulders.  
He looks less like Captain America, more like Steve Rogers.

A man, not a war hero. 

“I have these recurring dreams,” he explains.  
“Right, the night terrors,” he nods understandingly, “so JARVIS tells me.”  
“Uh, yeah…” Steve says slowly, disorientated by Tony’s input. “Anyway, I have this one about Peggy. We’re in Brooklyn on a Saturday night and I take her to dinner. She’s wearing a red dress and it matches the shade of her lipstick which makes me feel completely inadequate because I’m a mess and she’s stunning but the more I think about it the less it matters because I’m with her again. There’s no guilt, no mention of being late. I’m with her. Anyway, we go to this place downtown, in Manhattan. I could never really afford a place like that, it’s all dim lights and fake fur, you know the type. I used to tell Bucky if I met the right girl I’d save up and take her there, I used to lie in my bunk and think about it when we were working on the HYDRA missions. Anyway, so I take her to this expensive restaurant and there’s a band and they’re playing all our favourite songs and the whole place is candle light and every time she laughs it’s like there’s nothing else. It’s just me with her.” Steve trails off as he smiles softly, obviously seeing what he’s explaining. 

This makes Tony envy him a little but he’s not sure why, so he brushes past the feeling. 

“She has the chicken and I have the steak…even though I really wanted the chicken but I’m nervous she’ll think it’s not masculine.” He ducks his head and shakes with a sharp exhale as he smiles at the thought. “It sounds stupid but it’s the kind of thing I’d worry about. That feeling of being the little guy that no one wants will never really go away, I don’t think. Anyway, then after dinner I’m walking her home and we’re just talking about normal things, meaningless things but because I’m talking to her it all means the world to me. There’s no mention of serum, no army, no HYDRA, just normality. We’re walking through the park and there’s a band playing in the band stand…” he trails off again and Tony could swear he sees the beginnings of tears.  
“They’re playing slow songs…and I’ve never danced with anyone before, you know, waiting for the right partner, the perfect partner. There’s another couple there dancing but when we arrive they leave, so I dance with her. She teaches me and I’m awful and I step on her toes but she just laughs and…” a sad smile spreads across his lips, not quite reaching his eyes. Like it was just to reassure Tony he was okay (even when he clearly wasn’t). “And then I wake up.” He whispers. 

Tony wants to say something, something to comfort the poor guy. He desperately grasps for words, any words, but there are none because, well, after something so personal, so intimate, nothing sounds right. There are no worthy words. And now he’s uncomfortable because no one’s ever shared with him, not like that and he’s not quite sure what the procedure is. 

If people were like machines, this would be easy as pi. He thinks, and then he curses himself for being insensitive and realizes they’ve been silent for a few minutes now and he has to say something but what?

“Anyway,” Steve breaks the silence, wiping the creases from Tony’s pondering brow.

Tony silently thanks him. 

“That’s why I’m happy, it always makes me happy.” 

Happy because I was on time, happy because in that dream I could live without any guilt and she could live without any pain. He thinks. No more guilt. Or at least until the next night terror where he’ll watch Bucky’s boy fade into the blinding white of the valley or see the ice rushing towards him, hearing Peggy’s voice over the radio…

“Well, I’m happy for you, Cap,” and those were the only words that the witty, condescending, narcissistic, never-short-of-a-good-quip, Tony Stark could muster. He was, in effect, speechless. 

After another moment he speaks again. 

“To dreams,” he nods and raises his glass to drown the speechless moment from the conversation. He doesn’t care for it much. Steve leans forward and taps his glass against Tony’s and they drink. “To dreams,” Steve echoes, Peggy’s radiant smile burnt into the insides of his lids.

To be continued...


End file.
